My phone rang.
Odd timing, I thought to myself as I let the smooth sensations of Michael Haggins “Daybreak” ring out. The phone displayed Max’s name in large letters, yet in answer, I heard the voice of Te One, esteemed work colleague, and friend of ours.
“Hey, uh, is um Chris there?” He asked me as I opened my door to see him walking through the main door.
“Yeah, he just walked in. Just got home,” I replied, lightly confused by his asking.
“Oh that would explain why he wasn’t picking up. Can I talk to him?”
I handed the phone over to Christopher, to which he took without question. The following discussion lent no understanding to my ears, but by watching his face, and deciphering his tone, I could tell something was amiss. By connecting a call by Te One on Max’s phone, and the fact that Christopher was the only person in the house that could drive, I knew it could only mean one thing. The prophecy’s curse was being fulfilled once again.
Many years ago, in the deep unholy wood of Levin, a prophecy was once spoken. This prophecy told of a flat, or rather, a group of flatmates that would be doomed to dismantle. It was said that these flatmates would not get along, that all would fall apart within months, that there would even have to be trips to the hospital. But the group denied it. They found it unfathomable that they would be reduced to that fickle way of life. They were determined to not let it happen, to not break apart, to not give in to the prophecy that was against them. And so that they did. In their first year they argued, they fought, but they also learnt. From each other they learnt how to live away from home, how to survive as grown men, they learnt the many ways of living. For months this continued, continually bashing the prophecy away into the reaches were no man could find it, where no one, not even the prophets could remember it whatsoever. This in turn angered the prophecy. In its time it grew strong, feeding off the initial anger, anxiety, and misunderstandings of the flats early days. It grew powerful as they grew weaker, it began to fester in its own filth, longing for the day it would finally be fulfilled. But when it wasn’t, it became enraged, enraged at the men who had beaten it, at the prophets who had forgotten it. And in the last ounces of its power cursed the men, cursing them to live with only the last of the prophecy, the section devoted to the men needing to visit the hospital.
The curse sunk deep. It cut into the first victims foot, as a stray staple broke through the flesh of the one called Max, and brought out fear of Tetanus as the swelling refused to stop. It next attacked myself, filling my mind with rage that lost control of the body, lunging my hand into a wall so hard that we thought it had broken. The next year it attacked two of us, both Christopher and Max again, breaking the foot and thumb respectively. The last of the prophecy was fulfilled, at least once a year, bringing despair to those of the hospital workers, and the taxpayers money. Once a year we went to the hospital, always wondering what the next year would bring.
When Christopher received that phone call I knew what it was for. I may not have heard the words, but I knew that Max had hurt himself, that he would again return to the scarred remains of the dying prophecy once cursed upon us. We were quick to get to the car, and we were quick to get to Max’s work place, midway receiving another call from Te One telling me of a legend named “The Little Panda Fighter” that he thought I would enjoy being told. I marked it down, but with more pressing matters at hand, I thought little of it. We arrived at the land of Metro, to find Max seated outside with Te One and Nic, with smiles and laughter painted across there faces. Everyone barre Max that is, who’s face was flushed with red, feigning a smile to cover the pain he was most clearly in. His foot was open and bare, swelling up yet appearing crushed, an appearance not promising at all. We quickly moved him into the car, beckoned his helpers farewell, and bode towards the hospital yet again, for the fourth year in a row.
Christopher was rushing ahead, constantly looking for the quickest route possible. Any chance to skip lights, cars, and pedestrians was well took, pushing the speed and patience of the tiny vehicle holding us. Max spoke continuously, I wasn’t sure if it was of shock or rather just to remove focus from the pain, but he barely stopped his mouth for a second. Though his speaking would occasionally be interrupted by small bursts of pain, as Christopher seemed to pay special attention to every bump and nook he could find on our path. This was made especially so when he attempted to avert some traffic lights by turning into the driveway of a high school, planning to quickly turn back into the intersection at full speed without making a stop at all. This was punishment to Max as each speed bump jolted the car and likely shot spirals of pain through his toes. The true punishment was found as the second lights in fact turned red on us, beckoning us to stop in our path. The curse Christopher had forgotten had spoken, and we were forced to wait for an intersection we were just about to pass through. I’m sure I could hear the evil cackle of the prophecy at that moment, yet it is too hard to really say.
I want to say this is where the journey picked up, and the path was made clear, but unfortunately it was not. We we forced straight into a line of static traffic. As far as our eyes could see there were dormant cars, restlessly waiting for their chance to move forward. Max had to wait even longer for his mending, much longer than he would have liked. Much time passed as we waited for the cars in front of us to move, yet each movement appeared to take longer than the last. Christopher stalling the car multiple times also didn’t offer any consolation, only more pain through Max’s toes. I was uncertain whether we would even make it through the wait. Doom was in sights, it was as though we were doomed to wait in traffic forever. But then a miracle, the cars dispersed, our way was made open by some form of goodwill. We were back on path towards our destination.
As soon as we arrived a wheelchair was quickly grabbed for Max, allowing him the rest he needed for his toes. Christopher left for home as Max and I entered a room of pain and sickness before us. The room was filled with a heavy, stale unhappiness. With many faces filled with pain, despair, sorrow, and even boredom. My movement felt heavy, I could feel the curse of the prophecy weighing down upon me. A quick interaction with the nurse entailed paperwork, waiting, and watching. A variety of names were called out over the time we spent there. A girl with a pain in her side that turned out to be nothing, an elderly couple that appeared to have nothing wrong, and a man holding his face with blood drenched forearms. To this day I wonder what happened to the man holding his face, for he never returned from his calling like the others, I never saw him again.
Max was called soon after, and all I was to do was wait, yet that was cut short itself. Within minutes he had returned, telling me of the two hour wait he had incoming, and that he thought I should go home. I didn’t want to leave, I didn’t want to leave my friend alone in a hospital with likely a broken toe. But he reasoned that he needed to phone his family, that he would be okay on his own, and that I should spend my time doing what I wished.
So I did. My journey to the hospital ended there, as I stepped out of the wave of despair, and into the fresh air of the outside world. I pondered the curse on my way home. Who would it attack next? Would it wait a year, or gluttonously attack two again just as the last? This led to my wonder about the traffic we had experienced. Was it truly a miracle that opened the path? Or was it the prophecy, beckoning us back into his lair of fulfillment? I shudder at the thought of what will happen next, at who the prophecy will attack. How far is it willing to go to break us? How far is it willing to go, so that we disperse, allowing completion for its frail dying body?
I guess we might find out next year.
I Review Everything 